Within You Without You
by Carlier36
Summary: Peter and Rachel are finally reunited but even True Narnia does not hold everything they crave. Much to their surprise, they must discover together what England still has in store for them. Sequel to With All Her Faults.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Chronicles of Narnia_, nor am I associated with the Lewis estate or the film franchise. Rachel Winstrom and all other original characters belong to me.

_Aslan's Country, Time Unnecessary_

Picnics. Sunshine. Laughter. England. Narnia.

Without a need for sleep, life blurred into hour after hour after hour of such wonderful delights one couldn't possibly understand the concept of unhappiness.

Peter buried his nose in Rachel's hair, taking a deep breath of that lavender perfume he so adored. "Afternoon," he teased as she rolled over to face him, a sleepy smile on her lips. She might not _need_ to sleep but she liked to when he wore her out this time of day.

"Afternoon." She nestled against his chest, the thick, down comforter sliding down her bare, nearly porcelain back. Her left hand pressed flat to his chest and he curled his fingers beneath her palm, rubbing his thumb over the red ribbon ring she wore and pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"You were heaven on earth," he whispered, dwelling on their time together in England, a regular pastime of his as of late.

Rachel smiled slightly. "Silly man. You're in the one place you've always wanted to be, _in_ heaven, and now you want heaven on earth."

"Just never happy," he chuckled, holding her tighter.

"Satisfied but not happy," she agreed with a cheeky wink.

Peter laughed out loud and rolled her over onto her back, silencing her giggling with a firm kiss. "Now is that any way to talk in heaven?"

"Because we're sinless creatures," Rachel agreed sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she gestured between them, still unmarried and wrapped up in one bed.

Peter cleared his throat, flushing. "Nothing wrong with making love," he said tightly.

Stroking her fingers over his cheek, she shook her head. "We won't have to worry about it soon. We'll finally be married." A smile tugged at her pink lips and he kissed her softly, gently.

"Whatever will we do for rings?" His good mood returned and he wrapped her in his arms. "Maybe the dwarves can forge something extraordinary for you. Only the best for my High Queen."

"Oh hush," Rachel sighed, blushing. "I'm no queen. And I like my Christmas ribbon."

Ed swung his sword gracefully but Peter's block was sloppy and a bit clumsy. "Pete, honestly, what's wrong with you?" his brother demanded though his tone remained kind.

"I'm just not feeling like a fence today," Peter shrugged, glancing down at his reflection in the shiny metal of his sword. "D-do you mind if we play cricket?"

Edmund's eyebrows shot up. "We finally get back to Narnia and _now_ you want to play cricket?"

Peter shrugged again, half-heartedly, looking more like a dejected boy than a king. "Never mind. Whatever you like, Ed."

"Cricket sounds splendid," Edmund agreed after a beat, not sure what the feeling that seized his heart was at the way Peter's eyes lit up.

Lucy found it strange the way Rachel liked to sit in the window seat, knees tucked up to her chest while she admired the garden through panes of glass.

"Why don't you go outside?" she asked her curiously one day.

Rachel only sneezed and reached for a handkerchief in her pocket, Peter's initials embroidered on the corner. "Allergies."

Lucy had allergies once too but not _here_, not in _Aslan's Country_.

Wiping a hand across his forehead, Peter straightened, rubbing at a knot in his lower back. Sweat dripped down his forehead and he stripped off his tunic, leaving him in rolled-up pants and barefoot in the garden. "I thought Lucy said it was impossible to get _winded _here," he grumbled to himself, sighing slightly as he glanced over his shoulder at Rachel emerging from the cottage with lemonade. "Mmm, there's a sight," she winked, setting the pitcher down and pouring him a glass.

He took it with a smile, tugging her to him with a hand in the small of her back. "I like this. It's nice and normal." His voice was a soft murmur in her ear, lips brushing her cheek.

"Normal? For a High King to be working and sweating in the garden?" Rachel chuckled, shaking her head. "I'll never understand that logic of yours, dear."

Life seemed to go on that way with cricket, fencing, picnics and lovemaking. Rachel spent hours drinking tea with Kaili, there were always flowers on the table, Peter spent hours writing under the willow tree out back and they indulged in fine, wild Narnian wine late at night. They didn't want for anything.

Except those fancy little square ice cubes.

Except worn Charles Churchill volumes.

Except fountain pens.

Except pencil skirts.

Except bourbon.

It was the little things they began to realize they missed. The "Shadowlands" were calling to them and though they whispered in the wee hours of the morning about how they seemed to be the only ones that hadn't gradually changed, that still had earthly problems and human emotions, they never let on something was missing from their literally perfect lives.


	2. Chapter 2

_Aslan's Country, Time Unnecessary_

It was probably his imagination, but as Peter woke up that (rather fateful) morning, he could have sworn he heard wedding bells in the distance. He smiled to himself, curling closer to Rachel beside him in the bed before remembering she wasn't there. Some superstitious nonsense about the groom not being allowed to see the bride before the ceremony.

He sighed, lifting himself out of bed and sliding his feet into a soft, fleecy pair of slippers. Stretching, he wandered downstairs to make himself a cup of tea, only to find Edmund, his father and a crowd of Narnians waiting for him.

"There he is," Edmund grinned, handing Peter his tea. "It's the big day, brother."

They all crowded around him with congratulations and smiles for the High King. Peter laughed in embarrassment, running a hand through the messy curls at the back of his neck. "Thank you, all of you, really. Believe me, I'm more than delighted to be marrying Rachel," he murmured, blushing slightly.

He padded upstairs after most everyone had left and walked into the bedroom, yawning. He rubbed at his eyes, glancing in Rachel's vanity mirror, only to blink in surprise. It wasn't his reflection looking back at him, although it was close and for a moment, he thought he was seeing things. He reached out, rubbing at the glass with his sleeve, the reflection doing the same.

The boy couldn't have been more than 18, probably less. A shock of oddly cut blond hair hung across his forehead and he wore a rumpled, button-up shirt with the leather strap of a messenger bag cutting across his chest. His eyes were a piercing blue and his features were so familiar that if Peter hadn't known better, he'd have said he had another brother.

"Who are you?" he asked in that quiet, demanding way he had learned as High King of Narnia. The boy's lips moved to the same words although Peter couldn't hear him and then- he was gone. Peter shook his head as his own image instantly replaced the mysterious boy's at a knock on the door. "Must be losing it," he grumbled, although something niggled at the back of his mind, that this was a world unlike any other and hadn't he learned long ago not to dismiss anything strange? "Come in."

The door pushed open and Mr. Pevensie stepped inside. He closed the door quietly and sat on the bed, patting the spot beside him. "My boy, getting married," he murmured with a smile as Peter moved to sit beside him. Peter rested his head on his father's shoulder, looking at their reflection in the little mirror as the older man wrapped an arm around him. "You'll make that girl of yours a fine husband."

"I hope so," Peter said softly, feeling like a little child again, sitting there with his dad. "It's forever, you know." A small smile tugged at his lips. "Any last advice?"

"Hmm, well… I think the one thing I've learned from all these years with your mother is that flowers make a world of difference when she's angry," he grinned. "Not that you'll need to worry about that here."

Peter laughed, glancing down at his hands. "I don't know. Rachel and I don't seem to be experiencing things quite the same as the rest of you. I broke a plate the other day and I thought she was going to bust she was so upset with me."

"How strange," his father agreed, brow knit. "I haven't felt anything remotely upsetting since we arrived here. Probably just nerves; brides, you know."

Peter nodded, murmuring a "probably" but he couldn't bring himself to agree. He and Rachel just didn't seem to be capable of feeling the uncontrollable joy the others felt. It was as though… as though… something were holding them back. Peter glanced into the vanity mirror, thinking of the boy's face for a brief moment. As though something wouldn't let them move on with their (after)lives.

Rachel smoothed her hands down the front of the rather stunning white dress Kaili had had some of the dryads make for her. It shimmered in the light and swished elegantly around her calves, hugging her curves in a way that make Peter absolutely unable to take his eyes off her (not that he ever could anyway.)

She twisted around to look at the back in the mirror, smiling slightly. Oh, it _was_ lovely. And she _was_ thrilled to finally be marrying Peter. And yet…

"Oh, darling, you look _fantastic_," Kaili cried from the door, her eyes sparkling as she held her arms out, hugging Rachel tightly. Rachel laughed quietly, hugging her back. "It really is a dress fit for a queen."

Rachel blushed, shaking her head. "I'm not going to be a queen. Just Peter's wife."

Firmly ignoring her, Kaili held out a carved wooden box. "You're going to be _High_ Queen, no less, and every queen ought to be able to wear the crown jewels."

Rachel sighed but took the box, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. She gingerly lifted the lid and gasped, her eyes widening. "_Kaili_. Ohh…" Setting the lid aside, she ran the tips of her fingers over an elaborate necklace, glimmering in the early morning light.

Kaili smiled and moved to sit beside her. "It was a gift, to Rilian II's bride, when she became queen. The way the story goes, at least, she was from beyond the Western Wood and much of Narnia considered her a threat. They had never heard of a people _beyond_ the Wood, you understand. Anyhow, she called a meeting with the governors of each of the four sections of Narnia, the Woodlanders, the Northerners, the Islanders and the Southerners, not all of whom particularly got along, and she explained to them that she loved the King and she was going to marry him with or without their approval but she wanted to be a good queen so if they would like to voice their grievances _now_, she would be more than happy to hear anything they might want to say.

They were so impressed by her diplomacy that they banded together to make her a wedding present, something from each of them. The Southerners wanted to give her gold, the Northerners wanted to give her jewels, the Islanders, shells, and the Woodlanders, carved birch. They argued endlessly over how to put all of these strange pieces together before deciding on a necklace." Kaili pointed to the carven base, inlaid with gold, seashells and sparkling jewels. "It was lost in the last war before Stilian and I abdicated, stolen. But when we arrived here, there it was, sitting in my jewelry case, as though it had never left." She smiled. "I thought it appropriate for you to have."

Rachel looked up at her with tears in her eyes. "It's so lovely, Kail," she murmured, wrapping her arms around her friend. "Thank you… It means so much to know Peter's world accepts me."

"We more than accept you, dear. We love you." Kaili smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Come here, let me help you put it on." She lifted it from the box, gently laying the heavy, wooden necklace over Rachel's throat and hooking the gold clasp. Squeezing her shoulders, she smiled, meeting Rachel's eyes in the mirror. "There. Now you're perfect."

Rachel smiled, reaching up to draw her fingertips over the necklace again. "High Queen," she breathed. "It didn't feel real until just now."

"That's because you're wearing Narnia around your neck," Kaili chuckled, kissing her cheek. "Don't worry. You'll do splendidly."

Rachel, on the other hand, didn't feel so sure.

The ceremony was to be held on the Summer Solstice, a particularly awe-inspiring date in Narnia, when the sun and the moon rose together and traversed the skies as a pair. It had always been popular for weddings, for the symbolism was simply too great to ignore: the bright, masculine sun and the voluptuous, feminine moon lighting the world together for a day.

Peter made his way to the orchard at Cair Paravel in an entourage of cheerful, singing Talking Animals, Kings, family and Spare Oom friends he had lost during the war. They danced and laughed, waving ribbons and throwing rice, the combination of Narnian and British traditions making his heart swell. His clothes were loose-fitting and comfortable but still befitting nobility and his own crown sat proudly on his head for the first time in so very many years.

People from every portion of their lives had gathered in the fruit trees and they clapped and cheered as he walked beneath an arbor of beribboned, outstretching apple branches to the stone altar where Aslan sat patiently waiting. Peter moved to stand to his left, hands folded in front of him and Edmund at his side with the elaborate Dwarfish rings in his pocket.

It seemed like hours while Rachel's attendants (including Margaret and Kaili) filed out, carrying small, fragrant bouquets of roses, heather and peonies. And then suddenly- there she was. The Trees rained soft apple blossoms on her as she walked, slowly, one foot and then the other. Blooms caught in her long red hair and the white veil that trailed out behind her. Her eyes danced with a light that put the shining silver circlet on her head to shame when she saw him, waiting for her.

His eyes raked over her, the stunning white dress, the elaborate necklace, the cascading bouquet of flowers. But all he could focus on was her face, that soft, sweet smile and those eyes glimmering with ecstatic tears.

Rachel made her way to his side, placing her hand gently in his. He smiled when he saw the tattered red ribbon still tied on her finger and kissed her cheek. "You're magical," he whispered as they turned to face Aslan.

They both rather mindlessly murmured the first portion of the ceremony, sneaking glances, desperate for it to be over, when they would finally, officially, be together. Finally they were able to face each other, both hands clasped gently together.

Aslan's soft, deep voice murmured the vows and each of them repeated the beautiful, binding words, one by one. _To love and to care. To have and to hold. To bring pleasure and joy. _

"Blood by blood and flesh by flesh…" Peter broke the small slice of sweet bread in half, feeding her a piece as she carefully gave him a sip of thick red wine before they traded. They snuck a quick kiss, grinning happily as a quiet laugh rippled through the gathered crowd.

"Not yet…" Aslan chuckled, gently pushing them apart with a large paw. Two dryads fluttered around them, tying their hands with brightly colored ribbons and Rachel smiled as a quiet breeze lifted her veil and the ends of her hair.

The row of wood waiting patiently in front of them was lit and Peter leaned in with a grin, resting his forehead on hers. "I feel Magic," he whispered.

"I know. I love you so much…" she whispered back but he shook his head.

"No, no, I feel _Magic_. Capital 'm', dear. Hold on tight." The crowd began to sing and shout as Kaili stepped forward to remove Rachel's veil. She squeezed his hands and they leaped over the low, burning flames, laughing and smiling and then she felt it too, a tickle, a breeze, a pinch of _Magic_.

They tumbled to asphalt that should have been grass, the merry singing turning to honking cars and yelling. Glancing up, their eyes widened and Peter dragged her out of the middle of the road, onto the sidewalk, their hands still bound with ribbons. It was the only thing that remained however; gone was his crown and tunic, her wedding dress and necklace. In their place were the things they last remembered wearing, late '40s fashions.

Straightening up, they both looked around in shock at a London very different from what they remembered. A group of men in black berets lounged outside a café, smoking. Women in skirts cut halfway up their thighs walked by them and Rachel stuck her elbow in his rib for looking. A giant, brightly colored poster was plastered outside of a shop window that read 'Get Beatles Records Here!'

"Well. This is different."


	3. Chapter 3

_London, 1964_

The rain could have been termed torrential and he was soaked to the bone but Aubrey Langton could barely be bothered to notice as he darted under the cover of an overhanging shop awning. A messenger bag was slung over his shoulder and his newspapers were probably sopping wet but with any luck it wouldn't matter. He would quit before the boss man could fire him. Staring at the 'We're Hiring' sign in the bookstore window with a mix of trepidation and silent pleading, he slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside, bells jingling a welcome.

He wiped his feet on the little mat and regretted for a moment that he hadn't thought to look a bit more put together first. His hair hung in his eyes and he groaned to himself. He'd never get the job looking like this.

"Can I help you?" A woman asked from behind him.

He spun around in surprise and stammered. She certainly wasn't the eccentric old man or spinster librarian he had been expecting. "I-uh-I'm-here about the job. In the window?"

She looked him up and down and smiled lightly. "Why don't you come inside and get warm and we'll have a chat," she agreed, motioning him over to a flickering fireplace around the corner.

Aubrey breathed a sigh of relief, holding his hands out. "Not much of an Englishman, am I? Out without an umbrella," he laughed ruefully.

"I never carry an umbrella. Rain's only liquid sunshine," she asked with a soft smile, pouring him a cup of tea.

He blinked slightly, taking the cup with a grateful nod. "That's beautiful. I never thought of it that way."

Taking a sip of her own tea, she leaned against the fireplace. "So you'd like a job here? A young man like you?"

Aubrey nodded, flushing slightly. "I just love books."

"What's your name?" she asked, her eyes seeming to take all of him in at once.

"A-Aubrey Langton, ma'am," he answered, tripping over his words again.

"Miss," she corrected gently. "Susan, really, please. I'm sorry, you just remind me of someone. How old are you, Aubrey?"

"19, ma'am. Miss. Susan."

Susan chuckled quietly. "19. Well. That's a very good age. Impetuous age. But a good age. Tell me, Aubrey, what is your favorite book?"

He flushed again at being put on the spot. "Oh, I don't know that I could hardly pick a favorite, miss. Susan."

Susan smiled, tucking a dark strand of hair behind her ear. "Good answer," she chuckled. "Let me rephrase: What _sorts_ of books do you like, then?"

"Ah- m-mystery, miss. And, ah, romance. Anything with a bit of a… a bit of an escape," he admitted, blushing deeper.

"Romance isn't something to be ashamed of, Aubrey," she murmured quietly, sounding wise beyond her years. As he looked closer, he realized she was probably older than he thought she was, with the grey streaks at the roots of her hair (dyed, he now realized.) And although the lines in her face were fine and covered with a few talented sweeps of a makeup brush, they were there.

"No. No, of course not," Aubrey breathed, captivated. He blinked though, much to his dismay, and she was smiling again, the thin laugh lines around her lips and eyes a little deeper, the sorts of wrinkles it would be a shame to cover.

"Well, I'd say you're hired." Susan held out a hand. "Can you start next week? I'm going out of town on Wednesday and I'd like to be able to show you the ropes first."

He shook her hand, hoping his excitement masked the disappointment that she wouldn't be there for long. "Thank you, miss. Susan. How long will you be gone?"

She shrugged a shoulder lightly. "Oh, maybe a week or two, maybe a month or two. I'm not sure. I'm… going to visit a friend, in the country."

"Well, I hope you enjoy your time there, then," Aubrey murmured. "Thank you for the tea. And- the job, of course." A wry smile tugged at his lips. "It's much appreciated."

Susan's eyes twinkled with amusement at his stumbling gratitude. "I'm sure you'll be a model employee," she smiled.

Aubrey flushed. "I will certainly try." He lifted his wet bag back onto his shoulder, glancing one last time around the store as he turned to go. "First thing, Monday morning. I'll see you then," he waved over his shoulder, the bells jingling as he let himself out.

Sipping at her tea, Susan picked up a well-worn book lying on the mantelpiece and sank into a chair. She opened the front cover to the book jacket, drawing her thumb over the black-and-white photograph of the author, a boy about Aubrey's age, smiling widely back at her. "Miss you, Pete," she whispered.

"I got the job. I _got the job!"_ Aubrey dumped his bag on the tile floor as he ran into the townhouse, yelling.

"Oh, _darling_, I'm so proud of you!" A pretty, graying woman leaned over the upstairs railing, smiling happily at him.

"Oh, mum, it was great. The owner is fantastic." Aubrey went on to ramble about his conversation with the odd, dark-haired Susan with the knowing eyes and the sweet smile.

Georgia Langton gave a knowing smile of her own, recognizing her son's fascination with the woman as he sat beside her desk, watching her write thank you notes and invitations for whatever dinner party she was currently planning.

Aubrey was a shy boy but once he warmed up, he could talk for hours on end, and as his mother, Georgia could listen with half an ear and still manage to offer better advice than anyone. She and his father had developed a terrible habit of coddling their baby boy, so grateful were they for the chance to even call him their own.

Georgia couldn't bear children, you see, though she had desperately wanted to, but right at the end of the war, they had received surprisingly wonderful news of a baby up for adoption. They had never met his parents, only been informed that his father had been killed in one of the bombings and his mother couldn't support him by herself. Georgia had always wondered what that woman must have been like. If she had been in love with that lost soldier. If she looked like Aubrey or if he took after his father. Did he get his adoration of the written word from her? Did she think of her son and wonder where he was, what he was like?

"No Squirrels to ask for directions here," Rachel griped, chewing on her bottom lip.

Peter tucked her hand in his, leaving the ribbons that still bound their wrists for the moment. "Now, now, have a little faith. Aslan wouldn't have sent us if we couldn't find our way."

Rachel raised an eyebrow, disbelief written across her face, but only drew a chuckle from him. "Oh I'm glad you think this is so funny!" she chuckled in spite of herself.

Tugging her down the sidewalk, Peter shrugged a shoulder. "Oh, this is nothing. We're in London; no matter what the date or the reason, we at least know where we are. Look, there's the tip of the Albert Memorial. We're in South Kensington."

Squinting at the gold cross he had pointed to, several blocks away, Rachel pressed her lips together in an approximation of giving in while he fussed with the coins and lint in his pocket.

"August 6, 1964."

"Hmm?" Rachel glanced down to find him holding up a newspaper, finger on the date.

"It's 1964. Welcome to the future, baby."

She stared for a moment before it sunk in, her hand squeezing his. "Why on earth would Aslan send us to 1964?" she breathed, brow knitting in shock and confusion.

"I haven't a clue but I'm sure we'll figure it out. I do know, however, that I just got married and haven't yet kissed my bride." Peter smirked, cupping her cheek in his free hand.

Rachel blushed, laughing softly under her breath. "Think it counts if we kiss on the sidewalk in 1964?"

"Oh I'm certain of it." Peter winked, pressing his lips to hers in the sort of kiss that might have turned a few heads in 1949 but didn't faze a soul in 1964.


End file.
